


The Highwayman

by AllegoriesInMediasRes



Category: The Highwayman - Alfred Noyes
Genre: F/M, Juvenilia, Narrative Adaptation, Originally written in 2011, Poetry to Prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 06:01:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10825233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllegoriesInMediasRes/pseuds/AllegoriesInMediasRes
Summary: A narrative adaptation of Alfred Noyes' "The Highwayman".





	The Highwayman

**Author's Note:**

> A narrative adaptation of Alfred Noyes’ The Highwayman, written a long time ago. I recently found it again, pulled it out, and dusted it off. Written when I was in middle school, but I feel like it’s still aged relatively well, so take a read and enjoy!
> 
> Originally written in 2011.

_Crreeakkk_ … Soft, gentle hands opened the highest casement of the fine old inn. The moon, as ghostly as Spanish galleons at night, splashed cool gray light onto the pale face of Bess Hammond, the sixteen-year-old daughter of Connecticut’s most reputed landlord.

Her father’s inn, a popular stop for travelers journeying through the hills of Connecticut, was the only home she had ever known. King George had founded more colonies than times Bess had traveled more than a mile away from the inn. She was safe here, with a happy life, a nice home, and a loving father. Who could ask for more?

Being sheltered, pampered, and comforted was not what Bess wanted. She didn’t want this, being cocooned up and never being allowed to explore. Everything in her life was always controlled. Every day was the same: posing as a graceful, beautiful maiden, in the hope a handsome young man who visited would catch notice of her and marry her. Nothing the slightest bit disturbing had better reach her ears. Anything she owned had once been her mother’s.

Even the love knot she had been braiding her hair with had once been her mother’s. She tore it from her silky long black hair and hurled it to the ground. She thrust her head into the night, breathing the fresh air, her eyes hungrily absorbing the dark hills. She whispered out to the moon and the stars, “I want to be free! I want to explore…”

* * *

 

As Bess spilled her desires to the night, below in the stables Tim, the ostler, yanked his grubby shirt out of the horse’s mouth. His hair was as moldy as the hay he stuffed into the horses’ mouths. After he finished brushing their coats, he leaned against the stable-wicket.

He’d lived in an orphanage ever since he was five until he was sixteen. Since then, he lived on the streets doing odd jobs here and there, until he was twenty-five, when he found a job at William Hammond’s famous inn. Old Will said that Tim’s stable personality was required for working in a stable with horses that had to be guided with a firm, unexcitable hand. Indeed, little stirred the ostler…  other than the landlord’s beautiful daughter.

Now, at age sixty, his thoughts strayed to Old Will’s daughter, Bess. He loved her willful, playful personality, her beautiful black eyes and red lips, and her soft dresses. The wind suddenly blasted his face in a surge of shadows, making him wince. As it howled among the clumps of trees that dotted the hills, he thought, _If only I could win Hammond’s daughter…_

But how could he? He was a man of sixty years, and an ugly one too, he thought, while she was a gorgeous girl of only sixteen years.  And as well as being almost four times her age, she had no interest in him, being interested in other men—

Tim leapt up, bumping against one of the horses. Whom did Bess love? Surely if he removed that man, she would marry him. She had no interest in him, but if the one she loved disappeared, she would have to marry him. He had heard her father recently: “Bess, soon you will have to be wed. You are nearing that time.”

Bess could not marry any of the servants—they were all below her in social status. But Tim was at her same social status; his parents had been famous innkeepers themselves before they died of pneumonia and lost the family fortune. He had not heard of anyone she was engaged to, but if that man was removed, she’d have to turn to him.

Yes, it would all work out. He would remove her lover and marry her. A disgusting smile crept onto his face like a fox.

* * *

 

It was a windy and bitter evening. The ominous sky, the freezing atmosphere, and harsh gusts of God’s breath ensured no travelers were on the road; this weather was too much for even the toughest. But of course, there are always exceptions.

The nimble hooves of the magnificent white steed soared inches off the road. Experienced hands guided the reins. The owner of these hands was the lone rider on the path. He looked like a gentleman: a French-cocked hat, britches of fine deerskin, a claret velvet coat, and his prized horse. But this highwayman was no refined nobleman.

Tonight, of course, he had not been able to commit any crimes because of the bleak weather. Still, he loved riding at night, feeling the cool air, alert. He was a very famous criminal, and he had committed most of his crimes in France. And when he sneaked onto a boat to the New World, his fame only increased. He would gladly do anything that would increase his fame; he had a weakness for universal attention.

Ahead he saw the old inn. He had heard of a “miraculous beauty of a girl” at the Hammond inn, which was, obviously, Bess. Bess, having been sheltered all her life, did not know anything about the highwayman. But she would soon know, as her head sticking out of the window looked like a pin on the road of silky moonlight to the highwayman.

* * *

 

He came to a halt outside the inn. Peering up, he saw Bess’s hair trailing out of the window. The highwayman watched her gaze out of the casement. Her head tilted, its chiaroscuro fascinating him. Tapping his rapier on the wall and whistling, he got her attention. She looked down, absentmindedly plaiting her hair with the love knot again.

Suddenly Tim, still leaning against the gate, leapt up. Why was his heart suddenly pounding? He saw shadows in front of the inn. He scurried around and his heart seemed to leap into his throat. Tim knew about the highwayman, and he scrutinized him.

The highwayman gave the landlord’s daughter a smile that Tim recognized as very superficial and forced but Bess did not. “My dear, my dear. How do you do? May I introduce myself? I come from an English noble family in Paris. While our riches are vast, we have received little attention.”

In fact, the highwayman had come from a famous but near fortuneless French family where every member, including the women, became road robbers at age twelve.

The highwayman swiftly stood on the back of his horse, and, taken by a sudden impulse, said, “I have heard of this inn’s hospitality, fine meals, and low costs. But everyone I know who stayed at your home said that your breathtaking beauty was what made their lives worth living. May I take the liberty of assuming the same opinion?”

The landlord’s daughter hoped it was dark enough to hide her blushing face. The highwayman raised his right hand. Almost without her control, her right hand slipped forward. The highwayman kissed her hand and whispered, “My bonny sweetheart, I’m after a prize tonight, but it shall take me a long time to coax its owners to give my rightful payment. If I do not return by dawn, I shall come by the moonlight. I’ll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way.”

Bess shook her head. “Sir—I do not mean to be impertinent, but it has always been my heart’s desire to find my own way, to to care for myself. I have a duty to honor what is in my heart; therefore I must refuse your offer.”

“But, my darling—why, we could be together! Once I claim my prize, I could take you with me, and let you explore the world to your heart’s desire!”

The highwayman’s confidence made the landlord’s daughter nod. Tim smiled. He could see right through the highwayman’s plans, while ignorant Bess could not. He watched greedily as Bess’s hand grasped the highwayman’s.

Her other hand loosened the love knot, and her hair tumbled through the casement, the perfume with it. The highwayman could feel his face burn like a brand. He quickly turned his head, took his hand from hers and repeated, “Remember: I’ll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way. Now I must be off.”

Bess nodded quickly. She leaned out as far as safety would allow and dropped her love knot, as a parting gift. The highwayman’s face turned even redder. He slipped it into his pocket and trotted off into the night.

In the shadows, Tim still stood, watching the robber leave, probably to commit a crime. That same sly smile, filthier than the entire being of the highwayman, crept onto his face.

* * *

 

All through the night and the next day, Bess sat at her window, refusing to eat, as though fasting for the well-being of her lover. Finally as the sun began to dip lower into the sky, she stood up, her legs stiff. She descended the stairs to ask Tim if he could look after the highwayman’s horse for the night when he came, only to find that the ostler was gone, along with one of the horses. Perhaps he was out hunting in the hills.

When he returned an hour later, he had no catch with him but he was smiling devilishly. Bess had already resumed gazing down the path. At sunset, she heard marching. Was it him? She jerked her head out to see a redcoat troop marching out of the tawny sunset. Why were King George’s men coming here?

They quickly entered the inn. She heard clattering, a glass breaking, and some scuffling, but what made her scream was her father’s enraged yell. “What is this, I ask? Why are you causing bedlam for no reason? No, leave the ale!”

She rushed to the banister and saw two soldiers holding her father back as the rest of the troop began climbing the stairs. Her father desperately shouted, “Bess! Bess, get back to your room!”

The soldiers dragged her to her room and tied her to the foot of her bed with a musket under her arm. The sharp bedpost made her wince as she struggled to free herself. They sniggered and kissed her, snickering, “Now keep good watch, ‘my bonny sweetheart!’”

_My bonny sweetheart?_

That was enough to make her realize their intentions. They slammed her door shut. She heard some more banging downstairs and then some heavy, slow footsteps. Her father entered the room and dragged her dresser in front of it. Bess began crying. “Oh, Father, this is all my fault. If only I had sent him away…”

And she began telling him the truth: that she loved the highwayman, that he had assured her he’d return, and that the redcoats were going to use her to capture him. “But how did they know…” she wondered.

Then it struck her. Remembering his filthy sly smile, she said “It was Tim, Father. After tea, he left for an hour to tell them. But why is he so malicious?”

William Hammond seemed older than ever. “My daughter, your lover is a very famous highwayman. He has committed so many crimes that these soldiers would immediately be inside the king’s inner circle if they were to capture him. But I know you love him, so—”

Just then, the door crashed open, the dresser breaking. The soldiers began dragging her father out. Bess began twisting against the knots as the soldiers forced her father downstairs and slammed her door shut. For hours she struggled and writhed her hands. Just as the clock struck midnight and one figure touched the musket, her father banged open her door. His face was heavily scratched, but the silence from downstairs suggested he had knocked out the soldiers.

His face grew whiter than the moonlight when he saw Bess’s finger. He shook his head but Bess seemed resigned to the truth. “It is the only way, Father,” she whispered.

Then, in the frosty silence, she heard it. _Tot-a-lot, tot-a-lot, tot-a-lot_ went the hooves against the cobbles. Tears filled her father’s eyes. For a moment, the world held its breath. Then she heard the footsteps of the soldiers coming upstairs, conscious again.

Bess thought frantically, trying to decide her last words. Then she said to her father somberly, “He’s coming.” Pause. “I love you, Father.” And then she whispered, “Tell him I loved him too.”

Her father tried to grasp her hand. The soldiers marched in like a firing squad. Bess scrutinized their pitiless faces, filled with greed for glory. Two held his arms tightly while another grabbed him in a headlock. His father shook his head, telling her not to do it, silently; but Bess had nothing to tell him. All she knew that the highwayman was not going to fall prey to a bunch of merciless cads. The last soldier slammed the door.

The landlord’s daughter felt dizzy in the last minutes of her short life. Pictures flew through her head: the last glimpse of her mother, when Bess when just a few months old, the highwayman’s beautiful hat, her father, the love knot—

_The love knot._ For some reason Bess felt as though the bedpost poking into her back was slicing her heart. Why? The love knot was meaningless, only a good-bye gift to her lover. And then she knew. It was all he’d ever have of her,

Bess thought about how she had longed only days ago to know how it felt to be free. Now she knew. And as she drew one last deep breath, she knew she preferred this infinitely to being safe, sheltered, and cocooned up forever.

Her finger moved in the moonlight.

Bess’s musket seemed to shatter the world. Her father thought he would fall too as his daughter gave her life for her lover.

Outside, the tot-a-lotting had stopped. The highwayman stopped and looked at the inn cautiously. The loud shot he had just heard sounded ominously like a musket. Behind him was a heavy bag of gold for Bess. Should he go in and see what had happened, or wait until dawn to help Bess?

The inn was silent in the night. The highwayman turned sharply, making his steed whine softly. A creak of the horse stables gate gave him a moment’s warning. It wasn’t safe to remain, he thought, and without a second thought he tugged the reins and off he went, galloping to the west. As he rode through the night, Tim crept out, warily feeling the ground.

The shot worried him. Had they killed Hammond? Was Bess all right? Or had the soldiers fired at each other in a rage? The highwayman didn’t seem to know either. Tim crept into the house and heard William sobbing. Hammond seemed fine except for a few bruises, but what was wrong? He didn’t wait to find out. He hurried to his bedroom, hopped into bed, and blew out the candle.

* * *

 

The soldiers lay unconscious at the landlord’s feet. With the help of the servants he dragged the soldiers outside the inn and left them in the horse stables. _Serves them right_ , he thought viciously. _First they steal the ale without paying, then they kill my daughter._ Letting them wake up in filthy horse stables was too kind.

About an hour before dawn, the soldiers awoke, disgusted at their sleeping conditions. They tried to enter the inn but the door was firmly locked. So were the casements and the back door. King George’s men did not want to linger; they set off back to the capital to report they had failed.

When the highwayman came at dawn and knocked on the old inn door, he saw Lord Hammond. He recoiled and winced as the landlord’s heavily bruised face came into view. The highwayman asked, “Lord Hammond—where is your daughter…”

The ugly story almost told itself to the highwayman. His face grew gray as he realized that Bess had sacrificed herself to warn him. A boiling vat of hatred began stewing in his heart, the steam of poisonous vengeance rising to his throat. His trembling fingers found their way to his pocket, where he took out the love knot.

He held it out to Lord Hammond. “Before I left the inn, your daughter gave me this, as a parting gift. I admit I may have committed heinous acts, but all my sins shall be washed away by what I am about to do…”

The highwayman turned, mounting his horse. Lord Hammond shook his head. “No. I beg you, please stay. Bess wouldn’t have wanted you to avenge her death so soon. Let them drop their caution…”

The highwayman paid no attention. His loath for the soldiers who had drove the woman he had loved to death churned in his stomach, making him think irrationally. Not bothering to listen to Lord Hammond’s protests, he jabbed his boot into his horse and off he went, guiding by jerking his legs than by the reins. One hand held his rapier to the lightening sky; the other clutched the love knot to his heart. “Faithful, faster!”

The horse, Faithful, who was indeed loyal to his master, pounded his hooves along the path as he had never before. William clambered onto a horse of his own, but he quickly fell behind. The highwayman, miles ahead, could see the tiny collection of evil devilish dots on the horizon.

As he galloped closer and closer, they heard his insane shrieking and turned. The soldiers could not believe their luck. Eagerly they raised their muskets and pistols and swords, ready to take another life. “Already done sniveling over your pathetic woman? Ready to fight us? Come here, coward. We’ll make it quick! Or are you ready to die?” they callously snickered.

These insensitive remarks merely added fuel to the highwayman’s desire for revenge. His sword whistled through the air and cleanly cut a musket in two, but many more pointed at him like holes of doom. The highwayman shoved the love knot into his breast pocket as his rapier became an arc of destruction.

Faithful tried to trample the soldiers, but sadly, the highwayman and his horse were no match for the well-trained soldiers. Five bullets streaked through the air. Three hit the highwayman; two hit his horse.

His hand jerked wildly, one trying to pry the bullets out of Faithful’s leg, the other trying to pull out the bullets out of him. His hand raked his chest and his collarbone, but he and his horse toppled to the ground, blood trickling out.

The love-knot fell out, lying in his blood.

William Hammond abruptly stopped when he saw them. He fell to his knees, tears trickling down. The love knot, which so many years ago had belonged to his wife, who died soon after giving birth to Bess, was drenched in the highwayman’s blood. He pressed it to his lips, closing his eyes.

* * *

 

Tears dotted the earthy soil as William finished arranging Bess and the highwayman. He looked at her lover. _I never even knew his name_ …

Bess’s wound remained untreated; he had simply laid a cloth over it. He had done the same with the highwayman’s wound. Bess’s fingers were latticed with the highwayman’s. Behind William stood Faithful, neighing and looking melancholy, his injured leg trembling. William led the horse to the stables, where Tim cowered.

The ostler trembled as Old Will looked terrible, his pain glaring out from behind his bruises. Old Will choked out the words, “Two words. That’s all, you contemptuous scoundrel. Two words: _You’re fired_. No severance, no apologies. You killed my daughter and her lover. OUT!”

Tim didn’t hesitate. He’d wrestled men larger than Old Will before, but this one’s suffering seemed to make him larger than the entire inn. The sixty-year-old man agilely ducked Hammond’s swinging arm, cleared Faithful, and skirted around the massive heap of horse dung, horse hay, and horse brushes.

Tim felt terrible. He’d been a selfish coward, and there was nothing he could do about it. He’d sold Bess and the highwayman to the soldiers, hoping for Bess’s love even though he knew King George’s men were unreliable gits who never kept their word.

He kept running along the road, though he did not know why. He was not scared of Old Will, the bodies, or never finding a job. His self-contempt at his sins forced him to keep running. He wandered as aimlessly as had Leto, mother of Apollo and Artemis. Tim did not know where he was going, and he was sure he would never would.

Miles behind him, William finished patting the graves. He stood over the two graves, below which two lovers who had gladly given their lives for each other lay. He bowed his head and led Faithful away to the stable. _Connecticut’s most famous landlord is in a filthy, mucky horse stable_ , he thought as he tended the white steed and strode back to the graves. _And I don’t care one bit about it._

William bowed his head, but he could not think of any words to say. Nothing could express his grief; therefore, he remained silent. His only gesture of a good-bye was taking the love-knot, caressing it for a moment, and letting it fall onto the dirt.

He turned, his heart aching. All the servants stood in the house, mourning, but they did not know the real story. They knew nothing of the highwayman. Lord Hammond had only told them that King George’s soldiers had come at sunset last night, tied Bess up, and shot her for no apparent reason. They did not know Bess’s real determination and selflessness. They did not know the highwayman’s desire to avenge her death. They did not know what a selfish brat Tim was. And worst of all, they did not know that the love-knot that lay on the graves outside meant so much more than a never-fulfilled romance.


End file.
